


Promise Me

by KylaBosch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Dredd 2012, game of thrones
Genre: Adult!Sansa, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crime, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Romance, Tragedy, crack!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaBosch/pseuds/KylaBosch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> It was not the sort of reunion Sansa had imagined, for she had never imagined one at all. *Sansa as Mama/Sandor as Dredd*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa Stark

**Author's Note:**

> **Characters/Pairings:** Adult!Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane  
>  **Fandom:** Cross-over A Song of Ice and Fire and [Dredd 2012](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1343727/)  
>  **Rating:** Rated M (see warnings below)  
>  **Trigger/Warnings:** Vague mention of rape. Also Major Character death and spoilers for Dredd 2012 movie.  
>  **Beta Reader:** Another massive thank you to Weshallflyaway/Onborrowedwings for taking time out of her crazy schedule to go over this for me!! You are amazing that is all!  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine. None of it. Some belongs to the creators of Dredd and the rest is GRRM.  
>  **Author's Note:** Written months ago and inspired by [the final battle scene between Mama and Dredd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPEoHDaLNxU) This was meant to be a part of an old meme that was on LJ years ago which goes like this: Pick your favourite pairing write/draw them into a moment/scenario/scene from 5 of your favourite movies/books/tv shows etc. So if you haven’t seen the movie and want to this is definitely 110% **spoiler alert!**

  
  
They called themselves _Judges,_ but _La Dame,_ or Sansa Stark, as she once was known, knew better. They were servants of the Stranger, the god of death. She also knew that there was really no difference between them and her, not anymore. They were nothing more than hungry wolves, which saw the world as their mutton, or so _he_ had once told her.    
  
Not a day went by when she did not think of Sandor Clegane, of what might have been, of what never could be. He was her fairy tale, her legend, her hero, and her fallen beloved. Like everything else she had once known and loved he was gone too, lost to the war that had destroyed both of their worlds.   
  
Outside her chambers a battle was unfolding, she did not need to question who would survive the outcome. If the mysterious Judge had come this far, there was no telling how much further he would go to ensure her end. After a lifetime of suffering, and sorrow, she had no regrets. ‘I’m finally going home,’ she murmured to herself. Strapping a bracelet to her wrist, she looked to her guards and gave a hint of a nod. It was show time, and Sansa was not about to disappoint.   
  
A breath later and the judge burst in with all the dignity of a battering ram. She almost smiled as she watched their entry from where she stood behind the railing that separated her bed from the rest of her spacious chambers. The time was finally upon her and she could not have been more at peace for it.   
  
The first Judge was a brute of a man, towering well over six feet; he was built like a bull. Behind him she could see the smaller shape of another judge.  With a hint of a smirk she raised her hands up in mock surrender. Lowering her hands against the railing, she watched her two shields aptly nicknamed her _queen’s guard_ open fire on her two assailants. Sansa was no fool; her men, though highly trained, would not stand a chance against the beast who wore the armour of Megacity One’s finest. After years of waiting, and secretly hoping, she had finally found her noble executioner.  
  
As the fire play unravelled before her, Sansa felt her heart lodge itself in her throat to the sight of the younger judge. The boy, rumoured to be a telepath, wore no helmet leaving his face fully exposed: it was none other than her little brother Bran.  
  
Her parents and elder brother Robb were long dead at the hands of the late senator Tywin Lannister and his questionable contacts. Her other brother, Rickon had been shot down by a pirate named Theon Greyjoy, and Arya, though rumoured alive, had gone missing. Alone in a world too dark to see the light, Sansa grew too cynical to believe that her little brother Bran really had found himself in the stern care of the Judges. She had long since learned that was no such thing as happy endings, most certainly not for her family. Yet Bran was alive, and clearly well cared for despite his dangerous line of work. It was not the sort of reunion Sansa had imagined, for she had never imagined one at all. She did not want him to witness her like this, a broken shell of what his big sister had once been. It was too late now, and she could only hope that one day he would forgive her for what she had become, gods willing, perhaps one day forget it too.   
  
To her horror, Bran caught one of her guard’s bullets during the fire fight. While not fatal, it took all of her self control to maintain an expression of indifference.  She was guilty of many things, but Sansa could not bear the thought of being responsible for Bran’s death as well.   
  
Her little brother staggered out of the line of fire, ducking away as quickly as he could behind the door that led to her chambers. Distracted by her concern for Bran she did not notice the bullet that caught her side until it was too late. The force of the attack was such that it sent her flying back onto her battered bed. With a sharp gasp, Sansa struggled to sit up, watching in dismay as blood spilled freely from her waist. Instinctively, she placed her hand on it, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.  
  
As expected, the mysterious judge made short work of her remaining shields. She had expected no less of the giant man. What little she had learned of the judge during their brief, but violent encounter in the lower levels of Peachtree reminded her far too much of another man she had once known and secretly loved. If she could not die by Sandor’s hands, then this pathetic doppelganger would just have to serve as his replacement.  
  
‘You have come to finish what you started.  Thank-you,’ she whispered in relief. She meant every word.   
  
The Judge faltered, uncertain what to make of her statement. It was the first time Sansa was able to get a good look at her executioner. What she saw made her heart race with hope and sink with dread. Much of his face was hidden behind his helmet; what little was revealed was deeply scarred. The left side of his exposed chin and lips were marred in a fashion that was caused by only one thing: fire. In her life Sansa had only known of one man who had such severe burns. At the sight of the aged scars, she immediately knew the horrible, wondrous truth, and its meaning. Sansa’s heart both broke, and swelled with joy.  
  
Sandor Clegane removed his helmet, and for the first time in as many years Sansa stared into the grey eyes she would have given her soul to see again. A sad smile crept onto her features to the sight of him. As much as she longed to make it easy for them both, she knew it was not possible. There could be no happy endings for killers like themselves. No sweet songs either, though Sansa, herself, had earned a few urban legends of her own.   
  
‘You’re a piece of work, Clegane. But then, so am I,’ she pressed on in a soft whisper. It hurt to breathe and the blood loss was making the room spin. ‘I knew I would get caught someday, it goes with the territory.’  
  
It was expected of her to be the villain, and him, the hero. In his eyes, she could see that the irony was not lost on him either. She had to give the people what they wanted, and the show would go on as it always did.   
  
‘Like the jewellery?’ Sansa continued with a resigned smile as she showed him the transmitter on her wrist. ‘It’s a transmitter synched to my heartbeat. If my heart stops beating, the building blows.’ The smile was forced; Sandor would already know the truth. She also knew they were not the only ones listening in on their conversation.   
  
‘This entire level is rigged with enough high explosives to take out the top fifty stories. If they go, the rest go too. Everyone in it; ash,’ she pressed on.    
  
‘There is no other way around it, Clegane. You know what you must do.’   
  
Try as she might Sansa was not quite able to meet his gaze. It was all a ruse, but La Dame was a skilled liar. She had, after all, learned from the best; the late former pimp, Petyr Baelish, or _Littlefinger_ as he was better known on the street.   
  
_Believe in it enough and they’ll believe it too,_ the dead pimp so often used to say. The thought was promptly buried. Petyr’s memory, even years after she killed him, still made her skin crawl.   
  
The look of disbelief and doubt in Sandor’s eyes revealed that he already knew her bluff. Even as La Dame, Sansa never had anyone killed without a good reason. ‘You’re bluffing,’ he rasped. _A dog can always smell a lie,_ his eyes seemed to add. How she missed those little, fierce, words of wisdom he so often would share with her.   
  
‘Am I? I know you won’t risk it to find out. You used to claim that you were indifferent to life and death. The weak are nothing more than mutton for wolves you once said. But your actions tell me differently,’ Sansa replied with a knowing look. He truly had changed since they last met. Sansa could only hope that he had found peace along the way; of all the men she knew, Sandor Clegane was most deserving of it.   
  
‘We’re a kilometre above ground. What do you figure the range is on that bloody thing? Can it get through 100 levels of concrete? How about 200?’ he warned. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry at his attempts to buy her a way out. Even she knew it was too late for that. _There is no range, my love, no detonator, no bomb. It’s not real. You know that as well as I do,_ she sadly mused.  
  
‘Why don’t you find out Sandor?’ she softly replied, sounding more confident than she felt. She hoped that he would buy the ruse long enough to end it as she had planned. The scarred man briefly looked away. When he met her gaze, his expression was stoic, though his grey eyes gave him away, even now he could not hide his feelings for her.   
  
‘Stupid little bird,’ he said with a soft rasp. ‘It doesn’t have to end this way.’  
  
Had she been the Sansa she once was and not the La Dame that she had become she would have wept to hear the sorrow in his voice. She knew what Sandor was thinking, and knew he was right. It was too late for her, too late for them.  
  
‘This isn’t a negotiation. Sentence is death,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You must take down _La Dame_ and save the day. If I am to die, I want it to be at the hands of someone I love, not in some rotting ISO cube in the middle of a penitentiary,’ she explained reaching for his hand. The blood loss was extensive, making it a struggle to find her feet; her wound continued to pulse and throb with pain.  
  
‘That’s the way of it then?’ She nodded to his words, her blue eyes meeting his gaze. ‘Then let’s be done with it,' he rasped. With a resigned sigh, Sandor took her hand and gently helped her to her feet. In that instant, Sansa knew he understood. Silently, she guided him to the windows of her balcony. The time was almost upon them but there still remained one last matter.  
  
‘Sandor,’ she whispered meeting his gaze. She could feel the coppery taste of blood on her tongue, and could see stars beginning to dance behind her eyes.   
  
‘Promise me that you will find and save my sister.’ If he was able to find and save her little brother, then surely he could do the same for Arya. Sharp pains tore through her side as Sansa struggled to breathe through gritted teeth. The coppery taste of blood grew stronger in her mouth, marking her wound as fatal, not that it mattered much anymore.   
  
‘Make sure she does not share my fate. You saved Bran, now save her. Bran and Arya are all that’s left of my family-my pack. Promise me, that you will protect them.’ It was Arya’s words that came to lips; only her little sister used to call them her pack. It was good to speak of her sister so freely, no need to pretend, to hide her desperation. Holding her gaze, Sandor gave a nod, as he agreed to help in that growling rasp she so loved. Knowing her sister would soon be in good hands, Sansa felt wave of calm pour over her. Sansa looked up at Sandor and gave a true smile. For the first time in as many years she felt true peace.  
  
‘Thank-you. Now please, do your duty and end this nightmare,’ she softly pleaded.   
  
The Hound’s expression remained stoic, though his eyes were filled with silent sorrow, as he spoke. ‘Citizen Sansa Stark, your crimes are multiple homicides, and the manufacture and distribution of narcotics’ It was no more than he had done in his lifetime, but that was not the point.  
  
‘How do you plead?’ he concluded, his rough voice oddly gentle.  
  
Sansa felt another wave of calm pour over her as she leaned into his embrace. She wanted to breathe in his scent, to put it to memory, so as to carry it beyond. ‘Guilty as charged,’ she whispered, breathing a soft sigh. Knowing what awaited her, Sansa reached with a blood stained hand for one of the slo-mo inhalers that sat in a sample box she was planning to ship out of Peachtree that morning.  
  
Noting Sandor’s quizzical look she explained. ‘They say you should never sell what you smoke. I‘ve sold it all, so I’ve smoked none,’ she confessed, studying the inhaler with disinterest. ‘I suppose today is as good as any to try.’  
  
Placing the inhaler to her cracked lips she pulled the trigger, and immediately felt her world drawing still. Looking straight into Sandor’s grey eyes, Sansa put every new scar, every old crevice, every last burn mark to memory once more. Pleased by what she saw, she rose to the balls of her feet and kissed him full on the mouth with all the love she had ever borne for him. Sandor Clegane was Sansa Stark’s first real kiss, and gods be damned, she was certain it was even better than making love. Not that she had ever made love, the way it was meant to be. The only sex she had ever known was never of her choosing, memories of that time still haunted her; leaving her with no hope in men, or relationships in general.   
  
Sandor tasted of stale Dorne red sour or _autumn_ wine, as it was known, death and spice. His throaty growl reverberated through her body, sending chills down her spine. Unable to resist, she lightly bit his bottom lip, inviting him to deepen their kiss and he complied without hesitation. Sansa immediately exhaled, filling his lungs with the slo-mo that had once filled hers. The toxin, though potent, enabled them both to linger in that precious moment for longer than normally possible. A low moan escaped her lips as she pressed herself hard against him. He gave a deep growl and Sansa felt herself drowning in the fire of his embrace; she could not have been happier for it.   
  
After a lifetime of ugliness and horror, she thanked the gods, a first since the early days of her teens, for this moment of perfect beauty. Never had she felt more safe, more loved, or more content as she did in that moment. He was her Florian, and this was her true song. For the last time in her life, Sansa Stark knew true joy. As their kisses and embrace grew more passionate, she felt the drug beginning to fade. Reluctantly she drew back, ending their kiss.    
  
Gazing up at him with a gentle smile she reached up to caress his scarred cheek. His skin was hard, made rough from the deep crevices and grooves of his burned flesh. She had never felt anything more wondrous in her life. How long she had dreamed of this moment, she could no longer remember. Holding her gaze he studied her intently. His eyes of grey, so filled with love and sorrow, now shone with unshed tears.  At the sight of his unbridled emotions, Sansa felt her own eyes threaten to rain.  
  
Closing his eyes, Sandor drew in a deep breath, as though clearing his thoughts. Watching him, Sansa felt her heart break for him. Her beloved Hound deserved better than this, in truth, they both did. In the end life had a funny way of making everything come together, for better or for worse.   
  
‘Good-bye, little bird,’ he hoarsely whispered, his scarred mouth twitching slightly.   
  
‘Good-bye, Sandor,’ she softly replied.   
  
To her relief he did not hesitate. One moment she was on solid ground, the next her world had exploded in a glittering shower of colour. With great care she twisted her wounded body around to create the formation of a diver about to plunge into water.   
  
Back when President Joffrey Lannister was still alive and she had been his fianceé, Sansa used to often dream of taking to the skies. How she longed to feel the wind slip beneath her arms, to float amongst the clouds and drift far, faraway, like the birds of old. Now years later, her dream had become a reality. As the ground rushed up to meet her, Sansa Stark smiled as she closed her eyes. Spreading her arms, she drew her last breath, and flew away.  
  
The caged little bird was finally free.


	2. Sandor Clegane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lifetime of lies, games and broken vows Sandor had long since given up on promises but Sansa’s dying wish was not one he could refuse. *Sandor Clegane as Judge Dredd and Sansa Stark as Mama.*

Sandor Clegane, or _the Hound_ as he was better known, cared little for the gang movements and even less for their leaders. They were all the same; opportunists thinly disguised as supposed idealistic leaders to the poor and oppressed. He knew better, and hated how predictable they were with their tough love, fast life attitudes; as if they knew anything about suffering or seven hells. Of all the gangs that plagued Megacity One, there was only one leader whom had caught his attention. It was not what he knew about her, rather it was all that he did not. Save for her universal name there was nothing known about the one they called _La Dame_ or _The Lady._  
  
Nothing lady like about a bitch who thrived on the suffering of others.  
  
The Judges had tabs on all the gang leaders; they knew their territory, how they ran their people and who made up their competition. However, unlike her predecessors or her competition, La Dame’s _organization_ was as mysterious, as it was dangerous. Even what motivated them was unusual. There was no drive for power, no need for competition, or even expanding their territory. Save for the rundown housing tower known as Peachtree they held little sway over Megacity One’s underworld, yet they were one of the most feared and respected gangs.  
  
La Dame’s gang was called the Clan of Wolves. It was hardly an original title for a group of thugs, two bit dealers, and other petty gnats. Judge Clegane, or _The Hound_ as he was better known to his colleagues, felt their name was an insult to the extinct species of wild dogs. Unlike humans, wolves were noble creatures that deserved better then to have their memory smeared by the likes of this scum.  
  
Sandor frowned to himself as he moved quietly through the graffiti decorated hallways that led to La Dame’s private chambers. He could almost hear Judge Lannister’s mocking words spoken hours earlier before he had been called to Peachtree to investigate a series of violent gang murders.  
  
 _Now there’s a match for you, Clegane. I think this one loves playing butcher almost as much as you!_ Judge Jaime Lannister had quipped upon scrolling through what very little data they had found on the wolf clan, and its elusive leader. With a deep scowl, and a blatant threat to break Judge Lannister’s remaining hand the mocking came to an abrupt end.  
  
In Sandor Clegane’s life there had been only one girl, one lady for him, and she was dead. It was said that she had been killed by her supposed guardian, turned pimp, or so he was told. He knew she was gone, but he refused to believe she had died as one of Little Finger’s many broken whores. Sansa Stark, daughter of the late British General Eddard Stark, was a lady in every sense of the word. If not for her ideals, then her pride would never permit her to stoop so low. Not even Littlefinger's games or lies could diminish that. Sansa may have been a little bird, but deep down she was a wolf. Wolves, unlike the street clan named in their memory, were as fierce as they were noble.  
  
Sandor had been as wrong as he had been right. The woman who lay before him bleeding from the wound in her side, a stray shot that had been meant for one of her _queensguard,_ looked nothing like the young lady he once knew while serving in President Joffrey Lannister’s guard. A large scar carved through her porcelain skin, dividing her right cheekbone from the rest of her face. Her blue eyes once so bright and full of life, now stared at him in shock. Large bags beneath her eyes marked that she slept as little as he himself did. Even her hair, fire given form, was cropped short and dishevelled, no longer the beautiful mane he had once longed to touch. She’s twenty-eight going on fifty, his best friend Jaime Lannister would have said had he been witness to the sight.  
  
Sandor’s thoughts mirrored the emotions he saw in her gaze. He had failed her for the last time and now he had come to condemn her for it. In that past there had never been a need for any masks between them. Even if the Sansa he knew was long dead he could not deny her that one truth they shared. With a heavy sigh, he removed the Judge’s helmet revealing his face, as ugly and burned as it had always been. Meeting her gaze, Sandor let the helmet slip from his fingers; it clattered to the floor, with a dull thud that echoed off the old concrete walls. Unshed tears came to her eyes, or was it his own vision that had grown blurred with the weight of so many memories long forgotten.  
  
 _I stood by in my judge’s uniform and watched the president beat the little bird senseless!_ he had once confessed in a moment of excessive drunkenness, to the young judge who had fought alongside him moments ago. The boy, who was none other than Sansa’s little brother Bran, had said nothing, as he so often did, but Sandor imagined the young telepath had picked his brains clean after he had passed out from his third bottle of sour red.  
  
‘You have come to finish what you started. Thank you,’ Sansa whispered, pulling his thoughts back to the present. Her voice was as soft and musical as he had remembered, only now it held weariness and sorrow that had not been there before. Sandor could see in her eyes that she wanted this ending. The little bird had fought so fiercely not because she wanted to win, rather, she wanted to die at the hands of a foe worthy and noble enough to put her down and end the cycle. A short time ago, he had wanted the same of _La Dame,_ now the truth was clear, and it cut deeper than he could have imagined.  
  
‘You’re a piece of work, Clegane. But then, so am I,’ La Dame pressed on in slightly louder tones. Her attempts to maintain the act of the heartless gang leader fell flat. He knew better, yet he played along because he knew it was what she wanted. ‘I knew I would get caught someday, it goes with the territory.’  
  
‘Like the jewellery? It’s a transmitter synched to my heartbeat. If my heart stops beating, the building blows,’ Sansa added, her smile growing resigned as she showed the device on her wrist. ‘This entire level is rigged with enough high explosives to take out the top fifty stories. If they go, the rest go too. Everyone in it, ash,’ she concluded, no longer able to meet his gaze.  
  
‘There is no other way around it, Clegane. You know what you must do.’  
  
Sandor frowned, this was not the little bird he once knew. Sansa would never risk innocent lives. She cherished and prized life above all else. Even as La Dame she was never that cruel, preferring to use violence only on those whom had more than earned their demise. It was then that he noticed that she could no longer keep eye contact. Even after all these years, she was a piss poor liar.  
  
‘You’re bluffing,’ he rasped.  
  
‘Am I? I know you won’t risk it to find out. You used to claim that you were indifferent to life and death. The weak are nothing more than mutton for wolves, you once said. But your actions tell me differently,’ Sansa replied with a knowing look.  
  
‘We’re a kilometre above ground. What do you figure the range is on that bloody thing? Can it get through 100 levels of concrete? How about 200?’ he pressed on.  
  
Sansa’s expression softened. ‘Why don’t you find out, Sandor?’ she softly replied. He looked away, feeling suddenly very tired. Beyond her chambers, Bran remained wounded, though not fatally so, and entirely ignorant of his long lost sister’s existence just beyond the ten inches of steel that separated them. He debated speaking of Bran, but knew she would not want her brother to see her in this way.  
  
‘Stupid little bird,’ he rasped in sorrow. ‘It doesn’t have to end this way.’  
  
‘This isn’t a negotiation. Sentence is death,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You must take down _La Dame_ and save the day. If I am to die, I want it to be at the hands of someone I love, not in some rotting ISO cube in the middle of a penitentiary,’ she said reaching for his hand.  
  
‘That’s the way of it then?’ he rasped. Sansa gave a nod as her blue eyes met his gaze. With a resigned sigh, Sandor took her hand; gently helping her to her feet. ‘Then let’s be done with it,’ he rasped as she guided him to the windowed balcony that overlooked her spartan chambers.  
  
‘Sandor,’ she murmured before biting back a whimper of pain. Glancing down he noted that she was losing a lot of blood from her wound. He could see blood on her lips, and knew the stray shot he had fired had been a mortal one. There would be time enough later to mourn this mistake as well.  
  
‘Promise me that you will save my sister,’ she whispered, between gasps of breath. ‘Make sure she does not share my fate. You saved Bran, now save her. Bran and Arya are all that’s left of my family; my pack. Promise me, that you will protect them.’ The haunted desperation in her eyes could not be easily ignored. After a lifetime of lies, games and broken vows Sandor had long since given up on promises but this dying wish was not one he could refuse. With a nod, and a rasp of agreement the Hound sealed his fate and was rewarded with a smile he had not seen her wear since their last days together, before their worlds had been torn apart by the Lannisters and their damned war on the ruling gangs of Megacity. In that instant, he knew he would do about anything she asked of him.  
  
‘Thank-you. Now please fulfil your duties, and end this nightmare,’ Sansa softly pleaded.  
  
With a heavy heart, Judge Clegane recited the words he had been trained to say. This was not how he wanted it to end; this was not the ending she deserved. When he was a younger man he had often dreamt of her smiling at him as though he were the only man in the world she could ever love; allowing him to hold her close as he did now. This was all he had ever wanted, yet he could not have imagined anything more painful to endure.  
  
‘Citizen Sansa Stark, your crimes are multiple homicides, and the manufacture and distribution of narcotics. How do you plead?’ He rasped in conclusion. Sansa's blue eyes grew peaceful as she leaned into his embrace.  
  
‘Guilty as charged,’ she whispered with a breath of a sigh. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as her slender fingers, sticky with blood, reached out to grasp one of many slo-mo inhalers that sat neatly in an open box. It was one shipment that would now never reach its destination.  
  
‘They say never sell what you smoke. I‘ve sold it all, so I’ve smoked none,’ she softly confessed while studying the inhaler with disinterest. ‘I suppose today is as good as any to try.’ The wry look she wore did not quite meet the weight of her eyes.  
  
Placing the inhaler to her cracked lips the broken little bird pulled the trigger; a small cloud of white erupted from the device. Breathing deeply of the poison, she paused, then looked up at him with eyes of shimmering blue before kissing him full on his marred lips.  
  
Sansa Stark, now known as _La Dame_ tasted of lemon cakes, forgotten memories, and shattered dreams. Her kiss was sweet, too sweet from the slo-mo she had inhaled, but Sandor could not resist. Sansa Stark was his first real kiss, and he knew that she would also be his last. Helpless to the growing heat that spread through his body, he growled his pleasure as he tightened his embrace around her. His thoughts scattered as he savoured the feel of her lips. The desire and passion of her unexpectedly innocent kiss, was almost too much to bear.  
  
He could feel her teeth lightly tugging at his bottom lip; immediately he accepted her silent invitation to deepen their kiss. She then exhaled, filling his lungs with the sweet toxin of Slo-Mo. Immediately the effects were felt. Time moved to a crawl, as every sensation experienced was heightened in a way he never imagined. As their kiss deepened, she gave a throaty moan, or was it his voice he heard? The drug made it impossible to tell. He could taste her blood on his tongue, and felt a kaleidoscope of sensations as she pressed her petite body against him. In that moment, his world consisted only of his beautiful Sansa, his broken little bird, and the kiss they shared. As he was about to further their passionate embrace the petite woman reluctantly drew back. A dream like smile played on her lips as she reached up, to gently caress his scarred cheek. He could already feel the slo-mo’s high beginning to wane; he now understood why so many sought its effects.  
  
 _It is time_ Sansa’s starry eyes seemed to say as she studied him in silence; her thumb lightly rolling against the grooves, and indentations of his scarred flesh. Closing his own eyes, Sandor breathed deeply, forcing himself to bury his sorrow.  
  
 _If I am to die, I want it to be at the hands of someone I love._  
  
‘Good-bye, little bird,’ he hoarsely whispered. The world around them glittered with his unshed tears.  
  
‘Good-bye, Sandor,’ she softly replied.  
  
He sent her careening over the balcony’s ledge; the great windows behind her shattered into a million pieces from force of her body crashing into it. With the slow-mo still in his veins, Sandor watched her tortuous descent with a heavy heart. The strange peaceful smile she wore was still on her lips as she slowly twisted her body so as to dive face first towards the earth.  
  
 _If only I were a real bird. I could spread my wings and fly away from all of this ugliness. To take to the skies the way the birds of old used to before they disappeared like everything else._  
  
Sansa’s words once spoken years ago replayed in his mind with such clarity that he could almost imagine her by his side; unharmed, undamaged, and unbroken. He could only hope that when she went to meet her gods, the little bird would find the peace that she had been robbed of in life. Maybe then, she would finally know what it meant to be truly free.  
  
Turning away from the balcony he departed for the entrance, where her brother Bran lay propped up against a steel wall waiting for him. There would be time enough for tears later; gods knew they were certain to come. Until then, he had a wolf to patch, a wolf to bury, and now, a wolf to find.  
  
Sandor had failed Sansa in life, in death, he swore he would never fail her again. A promise made, was a promise kept.


End file.
